


On Living Forever With Sherlock Holmes

by TheSmellOfDustAfterRain



Series: Fangs and Claws [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (ー_ー)!!, Alternate Universe - Werewolves and Vampires Known, I am so sorry, I'm Sorry, John is Smarter than he looks, Like, M/M, Minor Character Death, New Vampire John, Post The Great Game, REALLY slow, Science Fiction, Slow To Update, This made much more sense in my head, Vampire Sherlock, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmellOfDustAfterRain/pseuds/TheSmellOfDustAfterRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John woke up in Hospital, he was immediately aware of two very distressing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

When John wakes up in Hospital, he is immediately aware of two distressing things. First, there were no normal hospital sounds. There was no heart monitor beeps, no hiss from an oxygen machine, and no drip from an IV line.

The second thing was that Sherlock was couched in a chair as far from John as he could be, and he looked terrified. John knew that the detective was a vampire, so anything that could scare him was bad news. John sat up, completely alert, and sought out the thing that frightened Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock barely whispers, "I need you to listen to everything I say before you do anything rash."

"Sherlock," John croaks, "what happened?"

"I miscalculated," Sherlock said. "What is the last thing you remember last night?"

"You had removed the bomb from me and then Moriarty came back out," John responds. "You aimed my gun at the jacket and then it's all blurry. You shot the explosives, didn't you?"

"I did and then I covered your body with my more indestructible one. Unfortunately," Sherlock continued, looking guilty, "I am an imperfect shield. A piece of shrapnel struck you in you femoral artery."

John thought for a moment. A severed femoral artery will bleed out in three to five minutes without proper care. John didn't feel any of the symptoms of extreme blood loss. In fact, he felt pretty great.

He looked back up at Sherlock, who had turned away from him, and continued speaking.

"Mycroft's men were in place to deal with any emergencies, but they would have arrived too late to help."

Sherlock looked at John then and his expression was one of immense guilt and shame.

"I couldn't lose you, so I did the only thing I could to save you."

"You Changed me," John said dryly.  

"I had no choice. You would have died. I know you wouldn't have wanted this, but I couldn't let you die if I could do anything."

"I don't blame you." Sherlock looked shocked. "I was an army doctor. I wished time and time again that there was some way to save soldiers who were sometimes so young I could have been their father. What about all the paperwork, since it was an unauthorized Change?" John asked.

"Mycroft has already spoken with Lestrade and explained the circumstances. It's being written off as an emergency Change. I will have some minor punishment, but I won't be charged with anything more harsh."

John was relived. He didn't want his friend to be hurt for trying to help. The punishment for Attack & Change was up to 250 years of imprisonment, and while that is nothing for a vampire, conditions are often detrimental to the inmate. In the past year, three wardens were charged with cruelty after they forced sanguinarians into sun rooms. There were no roofs and forty foot walls prevented them from being able to jump out. The vampires were left in there for all of the light hours sometimes. Not to mention the fact that most prisons had little to no fresh blood, so inmates would often suffer from blood poisoning. 

"And what about me?" John asked.

"You have to attend group therapy with some other New Bloods and individual therapy as well. I have to take a couple of classes to prove that I can deal with you and teach you."

"That's not too bad considering what the alternative could be," John commented. It could have ended with Sherlock locked up and John declared legally dead until he proved he was not a threat to society.

"I'm just glad I'm alive." Sherlock snorted. "What?" John asked.

"It's just, in my day, being Changed was considered a death sentence, not a second chance," Sherlock replied.

"Well, your day was over 180 years ago."

"Whatever," Sherlock sighed. "Can we leave already, it's not like you need the bed rest anymore."

"This doesn't give you the right to stay up for days on end. You need sleep just as must as any Biological and I'm still going to be on a sleep schedule."

"Fine. Now can we leave? You know how much I hate hospitals." Sherlock was halfway out the door.

"Okay. Just let me get dressed," John shouted as Sherlock walked out of the room.

"I'll meet you outside," came the response. Nothing ever changes, even when everything does.


	2. New Blood

It didn't really hit him what he was until he tried to fall asleep that night. The newly Changed do have a sleep schedule while their bodies are still adapting, but they tend to sleep during the day, that being where the whole myth came from.

John, being a doctor, knew this, but his still human brain did not.

John could list off every symptom of the virus known as Sanguinarianius Primus, or the human vampire disease. He could tell you how a Sanginarian's total volume of blood dropped from five litres to just two, and how special machines had to be designed to pick up their faint heartbeat. He could name the proteins that caused their irises to change colours; to silver for Humans with dark eyes and gold for those with light ones . He could even tell you the hormones that stimulated the growth of the front incisors into fangs.

All this and more he could tell, but he couldn't explain to you the way he felt the first night he tried, and failed, to sleep.

Because also being a doctor, John could tell you the painful symptoms of blood poisoning. He could tell you the effects of blood depletion. And he could tell you about the madness caused by blood lust.

So John lay awake that first night and ran over all the things that could go wrong. The next morning didn't help him any either, cause, while a vampire body has no need to shower and shave, John's mind thought it still did. 

So John undressed in front of the mirror and his faintly beating heart almost stopped. The virus causes several physical changes, the most obvious being eye colour change and skin paleness. John had retained most of his tan from Afghanistan, so he didn't pale much. He was lighter, though, and his eyes had shifted to a honey tone. John saw all of this but the most shocking change was to his shoulder.

John's once scarred left shoulder was as pristine as his right. The virus erases all previous scars and blemishes, so every nick or scratch that John ever received was washed from his skin. The only mark left was the silvered scar where Sherlock presumably placed his bleeding wrist to John's severed femoral artery and then stopped the flow of blood with the coagulants in his saliva.

The thought of his flatmate's tongue dragging across John's skin brought back memories of frantic encounters in the locker room after rugby practice. Mark Morstan, the tiny scrum-half, had a tongue that loved going where it had no business. Mark would lick the drops of sweat from practice from young John's neck, chest, and inner thigh. He once, even, licked away the blood from a scabbed knee.

All those thoughts of tongues and various swaths of skin had John a little less flaccid than he would have liked. He turned the water colder than his new cooled body and tried to wash away the evidence of his current train of thought.

With only mild success, John stepped out, dried off, dressed, and left the bathroom, praying that Sherlock failed to notice the lingering erection he had. He need not have worried. Sherlock sat, crouched in his chair, and when he saw John he leap from it and entered the kitchen.

"You need to feed," he said as he pulled a coffee mug down from the cabinet.

"Your telling me to eat now?" said John with a light chuckle.

"This is no laughing matter, John." Sherlock turned from the refrigerator with a blood bag in his hands. "I'm responsible for you now. It's my job to make sure you keep your head together enough to refrain from killing someone." Sherlock's metal-grey eyes shone with the seriousness of that remark.

"Okay," John replied, solemnly. "Sorry." 

"It has to be like this, for time at least," Sherlock continued. "With all the rules and regulations these days, both of us will suffer if you slip."

"I get that," John said as Sherlock place the blood filled mug in the microwave to warm up. "I can handle myself."

"No, you can't." Sherlock turned sharply to face John. "You can read about every 'symptom' of being a vampire, but every New Blood is the same. You will want to feed, constantly. You will want to drain every Human you cross paths with. You won't be able to stop yourself when some poor bloke passes you on the street."

Sherlock turned away and muttered under his breath. "I never wanted to deal this responsibility." Sherlock took a deep breath and turned back to John. "Look, this is going to be hard for both of us. More so for you, but we can get through this together."

'I know," John said. Sherlock looked into John's eyes for the first time since they'd changed as John spoke again. "I trust you."

Their eyes remained locked until the beep from the microwave broke the silence. Sherlock turned to retrieve the warmed mug and passed it off to John.

"Thank you," he said as he sat. John looked into the cup and felt conflicted. His vampire body reacted with desire and he felt his fangs lengthen, while his still mostly human mind felt repulsed by the thick, almost black liquid. He set the mug down and forced a breath out of nose.

Sherlock looked up at the sound. "You need to drink it, John."

"I know," he replied. "I'm getting there."

"Try holding your nose and pretending it's coffee."

John did as suggested, and, after clicking his fangs against the ceramic a few times, managed to get the whole cup down.

John crossed into the living room where Sherlock was reseated in his chair. "Thanks for the advise," he said as he dropped into his own seat.

"So, if I can't leave the flat for fear of draining a random stranger, what shall we occupy ourselves with?" John asked and immediately regretted it when he saw the wicked smile that flashed unto Sherlock's face.


	3. Blood Lust

Two week. Two weeks John was literally locked in their flat. Not that he couldn't have gotten out, but still. For two weeks, Sherlock tested John's reflexes, senses, and physical abilities, all 'for science'.

"New Bloods are different from older vampires," he explained the third day after John complained about the smell coming from the refrigerator. "They're faster, stronger, and have more endurance. They're hearing and sense of smell is more acute. I need to know the differences."

"I get that," John replies, "but must you really hide foul smelling  **things** where we store our food."

"But that's my point," Sherlock said, exasperated. "You're smelling things even I can't."

Really?" John looks surprised.

"I wouldn't make a comment like that lightly." John looked pleased. "Oh, don't looks so delighted. In a year or so, every advantage you have over me will have evened out."

"But, I still have a year." John smiled, smugly.

"Only instinctively," Sherlock said from his chair. A blur of motion and then he spoke from the entryway to the kitchen. "I have years and years of experience." Another blur and he stood inches from John's ear. "So, think twice before assuming you have anything over me."

John shuttered as Sherlock's breath ghosted over his ear and pulled away suddenly. "Point proven," he said stiffly.

* * *

Two weeks later, John's sleep schedule adjusted and Sherlock conducted his experiments. Sometimes, Sherlock would hide things and make John find them while deprived of one or more of his senses. He had John do jumping jacks until he collapsed. John was made to run up and down the stairs, and even around the perimeter of the living room once all the furniture was moved into the centre.

Finally, as Sherlock was running out of things to test, a case practically fell into his lap. The body of a Lycan was found in a back alley. Cause of death was ruled a heart attack, but the defining point was the fact that the victim was still a Wolf. When a Lycan dies in Wolf form, they typically revert back into humans.

So, just past three in the morning, Sherlock left the flat, hailed a cab (making sure the driver was not Human), grabbed John, and headed to St. Bart's.

Having been isolated from the rest of the world for the last two weeks, John took in all he could. His enhanced vision allowed to see subtle things he had not seen before. He could smell and taste the previous riders and could hear beyond the glass. 

Sherlock continued to steer John away from Humans until they reached the morgue.

"You don't have to mollycoddle me," John said as the doors swung shut.

"One can never be too careful," Sherlock replied. John mentally laughed at the thought of Sherlock being careful.

The body of the Lycan, scientific name Homo Lycanthropus, was played out one two stabs side by side. In Wolf form, a Lycan can be up to two-and-a-half times larger than when it's human. This body was pushing 1.6 metres tall and almost 1.8 metres long. It also easily weighed 90 plus kilograms.

The thing that struck John the most, though, was the smell. Even to Humans, Lycans have a mild odour. To John's new nose, the smell was overwhelming and he caught a glimpse of a smug smile from Sherlock.

Then the scents changed when the doors opened and Molly entered. The body semi-masked the very Human smells permeating the air around her, but not by much.

Sherlock had conceded to letting John out of the flat only after a substantial feeding. Despite that, John could feel his fangs descend as he reminded himself over and over again that Molly was a friend, not a blood bag.

The older Sanguinarian caught the looks the younger and quickly finished his examination and commanded John to stay put while he walked with Molly to the review the blood results in the lab.

John wandered around the morgue for a bit, then got bored and sat in the swivel-chair in the corner.

A minute or so later, a sandy-haired lab tech entered.

"Sorry, mate," he said. "Just here to drop the paperwork off for a few stiffs."

The man edged nearer as John fought to remain in control. The tech continued towards the struggling vampire and stopped at the desk John was now standing by.

"Just gonna drop these off here," he said and lightly brushed John's arm with his hand.

John could feel the warmth of the man's skin and the pulse of his blood and John's mind was lost to blood lust. Fangs met neck and blood met tongue.

The tech tried to pull away, but John's new body was far stronger. He drank deeply from the young man, until the sound of footsteps altered him to the approach of others.

Sherlock and Molly walked in and stopped mid-conversation when they say John, bloody and crouched over the still corpse. Molly's scream was cut short by Sherlock's hand and he immediately put her to sleep using his Glamour.

He slowly walked toward John, who continued to glare at the rival vampire and hissed when he got too close.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock comforted. His voice was thick with Glamour, and he went on talking until John was thoroughly calm.

Sherlock quickly moved the body to one of storage units and cleaned up the blood, even wiping off John's face and hands. He then went back to where he had left Molly asleep, awoke her into a state of hypnosis, and told that they had just walked in when John said he felt ill and was now going to take him home. She would emerge with no memory of the last few minutes.

Sherlock helped the blood drunk John to his feet and walked him out of the hospital. He jostled the staggering vampire into a cab and then up the seventeen steps to the flat. He placed John in his chair, went to fetch a bucket, and sat opposite of him.

Fifteen minutes later, the glazed looked vanished from John's eyes and the realization of what he had just done struck him. As Sherlock had expected, he immediately threw up. John expelled all of the sandy-haired man's blood and then continued to dry heave.

There was a glass of water and a cup of tea beside John. He rinsed his mouth out, then looked at the tea in bewilderment.

How could he possibly sit down with a cuppa and pretend everything was fine after what he had just done!

He tried to communicate this to Sherlock but, while the drunkenness had dissipated, John's body was still in the throes of blood lust and thus, he couldn't speak.

Sherlock studied John's face and deduced this.

"Don't try to speak," he said as he leaned forward. "I'm going to try something, so we can talk."

Sherlock slowly took hold of John's hands and pressed his fingertips to the faint pulse point.

John felt a tingling in the back of his skull and then heard Sherlock in his head.

_Can you hear me, John?_

_Yeah. How are you doing that?_ John thought back. 

_My Glamour lets me get into the minds of others. Normally I can just place ideas and replace memories. I've never tried to communicate with somebody else. I don't know if I'm able to because you've Changed or if it would work on Humans or Lycans as well._

John heard Sherlock as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

 _And,_ John thought,  _do you have to have physical contact for it to work._

 _I don't know. Let's try._ Sherlock placed John's hand on his lap.  _Can you still hear me?_

_Yeah._

Sherlock looked grim.  _We have to talk and take care of what happened._

John's face paled beyond his normal shade.  _I couldn't help it,_ he pleaded.  _I tried to restrain myself, but I felt his heartbeat and I couldn't stop myself. I'm so sorry._

 _I know that,_ Sherlock assured. _I told you, every New Blood experiences lust at least once. I should be the one apologizing for leaving you alone when I knew what could happen._

Sherlock stopped and rubbed his forehead.

 _You okay?_ John asked.

 _Fine. Just a bit of a headache._ Sherlock paused again then continued. _I already took care of Molly. I've had to call Mycroft for the rest. His people will deal with clean-up and the body. Alibis are being crafted and paperwork for "time-off" for the lab tech are being filed._

 _That's it. One phone call to you brother and it all goes away._ Even telepathically John sounded shocked and appalled.

 _Isn't that good?_ Sherlock asked.  _Do you want this to come to light?_

 _No, but.._ John paused.  _Something should happen. I mean, will his family even know that ~~I killed him~~ he died?_

 _Once no suspicion can be cast upon you, yes, they will be informed. Though they most likely not receive the body, just ashes,_ Sherlock added.

John sat in silence for several minutes.

 _John?_ Sherlock sounded worried.

_Not now, Sherlock. Just... Not now._

John turned away from his flatmate towards the window, where a weak light began to slip between the curtains.

 _I'm going to bed._ John got up from his chair and headed up the stairs.

 _John,_  Sherlock thought quietly.

_No more, Sherlock._

John's bedroom door clicked shut and Sherlock contemplated how he could help, then came to the conclusion that he couldn't. John had to get through this himself. That didn't mean he had to be alone. Sherlock would be there, always be there, to support John.

So Sherlock did what he could and reminded the disturbed New Blood that he was not alone.

_Sleep well, John._

The tea cup remained untouched.


	4. Nightmare Catcher

The dream started off the way it always does, with John on patrol with his convoy. They hadn't seen or heard any enemy fighters and thought they would be in for a quiet day. Suddenly, the sand explodes and the men drop to the ground to avoid the gun shots. John crawls over to one of the new recruits who had taken a bullet to the thigh when a pain shots though his shoulder.

Normally, the dream would end there and John would wake up clutching at the scar in pseudo pain. It didn't end there tonight.

Back in the dream, John catches a glimpse of black hair as he looks at his ruined shoulder, only he doesn't see a bullet wound just a silver scar. He turns back to the bleeding crow in front of his. The young man's leg bears no mark of a bullet, instead his throat is ripped open and strands of sand coloured hair are tipped in blood.

John looks away in horror and realizes the shooting has stopped but not one body has a bullet wound. Instead, every single person, all his friends, everybody he cared about in this land of blood and sand, lay dead with the same face, hair, and neck wound. He tastes blood in his mouth and realizes that he, not the enemy militants, killed everyone. Then John wakes up.

He shot up from his bed and trembled. His hands clutched at the sheets and tears fells onto his cheeks. John was so shaken it took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone.

"Sherlock," John croaked. Sherlock stood practically crouched just inside of John's door. "What are you doing? Did you see all of that?

"We are still connected," Sherlock replied. "I didn't think anything of it. Then I fell asleep and all I saw was sand and blood and death." Sherlock locked eyes with John."I felt everything. I felt your despair and horror at losing your friends. I never had to watch my friends die. I never had friends to watch die."

"Sherlock, are you... Are you crying?" John was genuinely worried.

"John, you can't die." The detective's voice cracked. "I can't lose you. You can never die."

"Sherlock, no one ever intends to die." John's heart shattered at the sight of his flatmate's broken, pleading expression. "But, I'll try my best not to," he relented.

Sherlock looked relived but also like he wanted something. "Anything else, Sherlock?" John asked.

"It's just," Sherlock began, "you always have trouble falling asleep after a nightmare and I was shaken by seeing it as well and studies show that physical contact can help eliminate the stress and help one calm down and-"

John stopped Sherlock's ramblings by asking what the flustered detective clearly wanted to. "Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?" John asked it the way parent would ask a frightened child.

The 'Oh, please' look was blatantly obvious on Sherlock's face. "Well come then," John said as he pulled back the sheets on the right side.

Sherlock looked timidly at offered bedding and he carefully lay, curled on his side facing away. The mid-morning sun slipped between the curtains and fell upon Sherlock's raven curls and John felt a sudden urge to protect his fearful friend. He turned toward the lanky vampire and rested his hand on a pyjama clad hip.

John didn't care that he was basically spooning his presumably asexual flatmate. He just couldn't stand to see the brightest person alive reduced to such a childlike state.

John reached out to the connection he hoped was still there and echoed Sherlock's earlier remark in an attempt to comfort him.

_Sleep well, Sherlock._


	5. Glamour

John wakes up around noon feeling hot. Half-awake, he opens his eyes and sees why.

Sherlock is stretched out across him. The detective's head rests on John's crest and one pale hand slipped beneath his shirt and lay on mildly darker skin. John just sighed contently and fell back asleep.

The next time he woke, with the room dimly lit by the setting sun, he was alone. He wasn't surprised.

John got up and tidied the bed including the side Sherlock failed to fix and padded downstairs in his grey sweatpants and white tee, but was stopped short by what he saw at the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock sat stiffly in a pristine suit attempting to out posh Mycroft who was across from him on the sofa. The two appeared to be have a silent conversation of eye rolls and quirked lips.

 The two broke eye contact and turned to John together. Dealing with one Holmes was trying; two was impossible.

_Fuck me,_ John thought with his back to them.

_With pleasure,_ he heard in the back of his head.

John froze just inside the kitchen. _Wait… What!_

John turned toward the sleuth. To anyone else Sherlock would have looked mildly bored, but John knew better. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and a flicker of fear appeared in his eyes.

Only Mycroft seemed able to move and broke the extremely awkward silent with a cough.

John retreats to the safety the kitchen while Sherlock said something to the elder Holmes which John did not hear.

John clutched the counter and tried to control his breathing and will the flush from his face. Obviously he and Sherlock are still connected so now is not the time to reflect on what he had just heard, so John does the British thing and makes tea for the three of them.

He makes his and Sherlock’s the way they like it but puts not enough sugar and too much milk in Mycroft’s because Sherlock enjoys seeing him in discomfort and, frankly, he deserves it for walking in when every he feels like it.

John takes the cups out to living room where Sherlock has just brushed off Mycroft’s insult with one of his own.

John hands the elder Holmes his cup and watches with satisfaction when he takes a sip and winces.

_Funny John,_ he hears when he passes Sherlock’s perfectly prepared cup. Only it’s more a sense of amusement than an actual thought.

John sits and Mycroft’s eyes train onto him. John can feel him reading everything from his body, and John puts on his cold soldier face until the examination is through and Mycroft sighs and picks up his conversation with Sherlock.

“We both know you are only putting on airs. You will accept the case and-“

Sherlock cuts him off. “I won’t take the case. I am extremely busy and will not take a case as pedestrian as this when you simply fear ‘legwork’.”

“How busy can you be with a werewolf and you think a missing MI6 agent is pedestrian?” Mycroft sighs as if in disbelief.

“I believe the proper word is Lycanthrope and it’s not my fault you can’t keep track of one little spy,” Sherlock counters.

Watching the two of them go at is starting to give John a headache, so he gets up to collect his and Sherlock’s empty tea cups and Mycroft’s still full one when he notices Sherlock rub at his forehead, as if in pain.

Mycroft notices as well and a smug smile flickers across his face.

“What,” Sherlock demands when he catches it.

“Nothing, Brother mine,” Mycroft replies smoothly, “but it seems congratulations are in order for Doctor Watson.”

“Meaning what exactly,” John commented.

“On developing your Glamour, of course” Mycroft remarks, as if it were obvious.

“That’s not possible,” John and Sherlock say in union.

“That’s more evidence right there.” Mycroft smiled like a cat that’d just caught and kill a sparrow.

“Glamours develop years after the Change, and evidence of what,” Sherlock demanded. John’s headache had grown three-fold in the last minute.

“Deduce it Sherlock,” Mycroft replies. Sherlock’s eyebrows scrunch together in concentration, but he apparently finds nothing. Mycroft sighs in exasperation. “Young John here is an Amplifier.”

“Young,” John snorts, while at the same time Sherlock says is disbelief, “Amplifier.”

“Yes,” Mycroft says to John, “compared to me, infantile. And indeed,” he says, turning to Sherlock, “of all the Humans you could’ve turned, you choose one with the rarest Glamour of them all.”

_~~It was no choice~~ ,_ John heard as Mycroft made his excuses and rose to leave. “You still haven’t explain anything,” John emphasized.

“Ask Sherlock. He’s your Creator and I’m busy,” Mycroft retorted. “Oh and Sherlock, you may want to reevaluate your data.” And with a twirl of his umbrella Mycroft stepped out into the darkening night.

John turns back to Sherlock who has taken up his Thinking Pose, eyes closed. “Would you like to explain, then?” He asked.

“You know what Glamours are,” Sherlock replies. “Well there are different categories of Glamours. Mycroft and I fall under Manipulator; we can affect people’s minds.” _Materialists can move physical objects._ “Shields block other Glamours and Amplifiers enhance them. There are different levels to each Glamour. For instance, Mycroft is,” _though I hate to admit it”_ , a stronger Manipulator that I am.” _I have meet Shields who can block Glamours for upwards of thirty meters and “_ I’ve met some who get nose bleeds from trying to block my persuasion.”

“Would you stop that,” John exclaimed. All Sherlock’s switch from verbal to mental was exacerbating his already pounding headache.

Sherlock opens his eyes. “Stop what?” He asks, puzzled.

“Switch from talking and thinking,” John answers. _You’re giving me a headache._ "It feels like my head is exploding.” _It makes me want to pound my head in with a rock._

_John?_ Sherlock says quietly. _What!_ John shouts. “You’re doing it, too” Sherlock continues.

John stops.

_I don’t like this,_ John whispers. “Whatever you did, you need to undo it.” _I can feel you thinking and_ “I can’t handle it.”

_You can feel me thinking_ Sherlock said in amazement. “What’s it like.”

“It’s like a swarm of bees” _no, wasps_ John replied. “But that’s not the point.” _Stop whatever you did,_ “please.”

“I don’t know if I can.” John glared at Sherlock when he said this. _We created a bridge between our minds_ “and we’ve been sending our thoughts, emotions, and physical experiences over that bridge” _for almost twenty four hours._ “I don’t know what severing that connection could do to either of us.”

”How do I stop this then?” John begged.

“Try locking the door.” _Dismay!_ Sherlock said and then felt from John. _No, seriously._ “Try imagining yourself in a room” _and then lock out my thoughts._

John pictured himself in his bedroom, with its bare walls and no trace of Sherlock, and turned the lock on the door.

“Any better,” Sherlock asked.

“Try thinking something,” John said in response.

_What is the square root of sixty four?_ He thought, but John heard nothing.

“Nothing,” he said.

“And your headache?” Sherlock inquired.

“Receding.” John took a breath then lifted his head back up to look at his flatmate. “Is that what it’s like in there all the time?”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked.

“So… buzzy? Like angry bees,” John clarified.

“I don’t know. I don’t really notice unless I don’t have anything to occupy my mind.” Sherlock turns away from John.

“So that’s what it’s like when you’re bored.” John could understand, now, why the genius was driven to shooting the walls and midnight concertos. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault so you’ve no need to apologize,” Sherlock remarks.

“No, I’m sorry you had to deal with alone. Has it always been like that, even when you were Human?”

“It wasn’t as bad, but yes. It’s always been, as you put it, buzzy.”

John sighed. No wonder he acted like a mad man sometimes.

“Anyways,” Sherlock says as he turns back to John and plops into his chair, “we were talking about Glamours.”

“Right,” John says, taking his seat as well.

“You remember what I said about the types: Manipulators, Materialists, Shields, and Amplifiers. Not every vampire develops a Glamour and the commonality of the four types falls in that order, so you are a rarity. That’s not always a good thing. Throughout my species history, wars have been fought over Amplifiers.  They can make other Glamours a hundred times stronger in some cases. Warlords used to keep Amplifiers locked in dungeons to make themselves stronger.”

John looks horrified. “This was years before I was born. The world was very different a thousand years ago,” Sherlock says.

“It doesn’t alter the fact that I if I’d been Changed back then I would somebodies slave,” John retorts.

“No John. Not someone’s slave, more like a prized horse. The point is, Amplifiers still go missing today  and any Human thought be have the potential to be one can be kidnapped and Changed. If they don’t present as the right type, they are killed.”

“This doesn’t sound very good for me,” John said, bitterly.

“You’re not defenseless,” Sherlock sounded confident. “You amplify more than just Glamours. By definition, you are more endowed than any other living thing on earth. That’s what Mycroft meant by reevaluate the data. What I thought were natural advantages of New Bloods were actually your Glamour. Your senses are sharper, you can run faster and longer, you will be stronger, and it won’t go away like in New Bloods. You are better than any other Human, Vampire, Lycan, or animal on the face of the planet.”

“So, what about this bridge,” John asked.

“That may have been my fault,” Sherlock confesses. “I thought my Glamour would allow me into your head so we could communicate. I wouldn’t have tried if I even thought it possible for you to be an Amplifier. It turns out our ability to talk mentally has more to do with you than me. You Glamour enhanced mine and that formed the connection between us. And it has been strengthened through our exchange of thoughts, feelings, and your dream. The connection is feeding off of your mind and I don’t know what will happen if you try to break it. You could be perfectly fine or you could end up brain dead.”

“So I have to just live with this?” John sounds horrified. “What if the lock fails? What if I can’t hold your mind back?”

“It’s not all bad,” Sherlock assures. “I can learn to ebb the flow across the bridge. Just think we could coordinate an attack against criminals without them hearing a word. We can get separated and be able to communicate what’s around us and find each other, depending on your range that is. Plus, you will be more effective at crime scenes with your enhanced senses.”

“I won’t be able to handle the full force of your mind,” John says again.

“I’ll control what can get to you. We can make this work and it can work beautifully. Do you trust me?” Sherlock asks.

“I’ve always trusted you,” John replies.

“Then let’s get started,” Sherlock says with a smile.

“After breakfast, though.”


	6. Truth

If John had thought the previous examination of his abilities was intense, this was brutal. With the blood analyzer in need of repair at Barts and no new interesting cases, Sherlock focused solely on John.

Every waking moment, and some of the non waking ones, were dedicated to seeing how far John's Glamour went. First, Sherlock prodded at John's senses and physical abilities and then, after creating a 'door' to funnel his mind through, John's mental capabilities.

The two developed a secondary way of communicating. Sherlock could knock on the 'door' between the two of them, but John remained in control of when the detective could enter his mind. Sherlock tested distance and found that they could not reach each other when one was underground but that John's range was far reaching. But there was a danger to that, as well.

Two weeks after Sherlock began testing John's Glamour, the older vampire received several security photos form Mycroft. Four Old Bloods had arrived in London having felt John's presence. After that, the examinations morphed into teaching sessions for John: how to limit his Glamour, how to hide his mind, and how to fight using not only his soldier's body but other vampires' Glamours. 

* * *

 

Life was good, though. The threat of other vampires seemed far removed from John's mind and things settled between the two vampires of 221B. Some cases same through and Sherlock returned to being the Consulting Detective and John returned to his side two months after his Changing. John was able to leave the house and went shopping and to his New Blood support group and Sherlock went to his classes and they had fallen back into a peaceful life. Until the night things were completely flipped on their head.

Sherlock was laying on the couch thinking over a difficult case when John came back from his New Blood group frustrated. John had let the 'door' open and Sherlock could hear his rumbling thoughts from two blocks away.

 _I hate New Bloods,_ Sherlock heard as the front door opened.  _I hate how they're so self absorbed and think they are the most amazing creature in the world._ John thumped up the seventeen steps to the flat.  _I hate shopping. I hate the looks Humans giving me when I'm checking out the blood bags,_ John thought as he angrily put said blood bags in the fridge. ~~_I love how regally he-_~~ John stopped.

Sherlock felt the connection break and was curious as to why the commentary had ceased. Sherlock opened his eyes and caught John staring at him. "Sorry 'bout that," John said.

"Rough day out, I take it" Sherlock responds. "No more than usual. Just, want to rant sometimes" John said turning to go to his room.

"What were you going to say before you shut the door?" Sherlock asked. John froze. _What?!?_

"Before you broke the connection you thought,"  _I love how regally he..._  "What were you going to say after that?" Sherlock locked eyes with John.

"Nothing, I was just ranting and" _I had a lot of things on my mind and_ " I slipped into other things."  _That's all._ John turned his back to Sherlock.

"I can always tell when you're nervous, John. _You start to switch back and forth "like this. What are you trying to hide?"_  

"I'm not hiding anything."  _Stop asking._ "I just had a long day and want to go to bed."  _Fear._   "Stop pushing it."

"Just tell me what you were thinking,"  _Confusion._ "Why are you trying so hard to hide this?"

"Fine!" John snapped. "I was thinking" _I love how regally he lays about the flat. Like some beautiful midnight prince; all dark hair and silver eyes and pale flesh. I would love to trace my fingers along each sharp line and press my lips to that faint heartbeat, feel that stone chest pressed against mine, his teeth graze across my neck, his..._ John clears his throat. "Um... That's what I was thinking." 

Johns tries to make a break for his room when Sherlock stops him. _Why haven't you said anything?_  

"I thought you didn't want anything like that."  _Embarrassment._ "You said 'married to your work' and 'not my area' and I thought you just weren't into any of that."

"If I didn't want something, I'd have said so," Sherlock replied.

"Oh" _D_ _efeated._ "Well I guess I learned not to make assumptions, then. I'm going to bed."  _Shame._ _  
_

"John," John turns back to Sherlock, who is now sitting up on the couch.  _Come here._ _  
_

John crosses back to Sherlock who pats the seat next to him. "Sit."

"What are you doing?"  _Hope._ John asks as he sits down. 

Sherlock takes John's hand and presses against his chest. They stay seated like that for a moment before Sherlock pulls John close and they look into each others eyes, reconfirming what they know. Then Sherlock leans forward and places a chaste kiss to John's lips. John pulls away slowing. 

John sighs and says, "I need some time to think," and retreats to his room.


	7. Memories

John wakes up, alone in his own bed, the next night, wishing he hadn't been such an idiot before.

 _I should have stayed. I should have fallen asleep with him. Now what will he think,_  John fretted.

 _I'll think you've had a radical shift in your thought process and needed time to adjust._ Sherlock thoughtwith the hint of a smile, that is if one can hear a smile in a thought.

 _Good morning, Sherlock._ John said, sarcastically.

 _Good morning, John._ Sherlock thought, cheerfully.

 _Why the good mood?_ John asked with a hint of suspicion.

 _Come down and see,_ Sherlock replied.

 _Just tell me what it-_ Sherlock closed the door- _Hello? Okay this is childish._ John relented and pushed himself out of bed and made his way down stairs.

 _What did you want me down here for?_ John said to no one in particular.

"I can't hear you when the door is closed," Sherlock shouted in John's general direction.

"What was so important I had to see," John shouted down the stairs.

"Come in the kitchen," was the response.

In the kitchen John found Sherlock bent over the stove, the table cleared of even the 'unmovable' experiments and laden with various breakfast foods.

"What is all of this?" John said looking with shock and awe at a full breakfast vampire style. Bacon and sausage with eggs and toast with beans. In the coffee mug, John smelled fresh blood too.

"I thought you could use some comfort food after your sexual identity crisis last night," Sherlock said.

"It's nine at night, no time for breakfast. Also, I had my identity crisis when I was sixteen years old. This is old hat for me," John said with a smirk. Apparently Mr. Know-It-All didn't.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing at the stove and turned to John.  _What do you mean?_ He asked.

John smiled.  _I'm bisexual. Have been since year eleven._ Sherlock looked confused.

"I would have deduced you were bisexual," Sherlock vehemently stated.  _I've known you five months._ "I know everything about you."

"Not everything, so it seems," John laughed.

 _This is no laughing matter._ "What else have you been hiding," Sherlock demanded.

 _I haven't hidden anything._ "You just failed to notice," John joked.

"Prove it," Sherlock said straight-faced.

 _Shock_ "Now I have to prove that I'm bi. What do you want me to do, show you a picture of my first boyfriend? I'm sorry, I don't have one on me right now." John said, flabbergasted. 

 _Yes you do._ "You have your memories," Sherlock replied.

"I'm not sharing my memories with you," John flat out refused.

"Why not?"  _Confusion._ "You share your current thoughts with me, why not past ones?" Sherlock asked.

"Because,"  _It's different._ "Thoughts are who you are now."  _Memories are what made you who you are._ John answered.

"I don't see a difference," Sherlock said.

"Well, there is one," John replied.

 _No there is not._ "You're just deflecting," Sherlock responded.

 _Fine!_ "You want to see him."  _Here he is._

John sat down in front of the food and put his hands to his head and thought.

"You doing it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes just give me a moment. We haven't shared personal memories yet," was the response.

* * *

John was sitting on the bench for the game.  _Stupid. I was stupid._ A sprained ankle in practice has John sitting out the game today.  _I was stupid. The team needs me and I fuck up my ankle the day before one of the biggest games of the season. Stupid._

John turns back to the field and sees the ball skitter across with a herd of boys chasing after it. Everyone is covered in sweat and grass stains, yet somehow Mark seems immune. He is sweating and stained, but looks fresh and... well, ~~beautiful~~ clean. John's stomach flutters and his heart races, and not from the game. 

Later, once the game has ended and everyone has left the locker room, John and Mark are alone. 

"Good game, Watson." Mark says jokingly.

"Haha, Morstan. Real funny." John replies, smiling.

Mark's blue eyes glimmer behind a mop of blonde hair. "What are you gonna do about it, huh John." **  
**

"I might just make you eat your words, Mark" John says. 

John licks his lips as Mark steps forward and they meet in the middle. It is a frantic, teenage kiss, involving lots of tongue and groping. Several minutes later, they break in a fit of giggles and walk out of the locker room close but not touching. 

* * *

 

John opens his eyes and sees Sherlock seated beside him.

"So...?" Sherlock said, questioningly. 

 "I hadn't planned on showing you all of that. Just the first part." John stammers.

"No, it's fine. It just felt different, that's all." Sherlock replies.

"Told you sharing memories would be different from sharing thoughts," John chuckles.

"But... I mean... I don't understand... How could I have possibly missed this?" Sherlock mutters.

"Of course you're more upset about missing something I don't even hide," John laughs.

"You think this is funny," Sherlock retorts. "I missed what is clearly visible. Now that I know, I can obviously see it."  _Stupid._

 _Sherlock_ "It's fine." John assures him. "It's not like I every did anything to make you suspect."

 _That's not the point._ "I should have seen this." Sherlock asserted.  _ ~~Show me more.~~  _"No, that won't help."

"Sherlock," John said quietly, "You're stressing about this more than I did." 

Sherlock turned and saw the smile on John's face and stopped.

 _I'm am being ~~a bit~~  ridiculous, aren't I._ He said.

"Yes you are," John replied. "Now let's eat." 

John looked over the spread before him. "You really went out of your way with this, didn't you."

"I figured good comfort food would help you out the best," Sherlock mumbled. _Embarrassment._

 _Don't feel bad._ "I've always loved breakfast." John said.  _Just don't eat too much._ "We can't handle a lot of real food." 

So the two vampires sat down and had a nice, Human meal. Almost as soon as Sherlock went to eat something, his phone went off.

"It's Lestrade," He said. "With the blood analyzer down at Bart's they had to wait for the Met labs to process the Lycan's blood. They finally got the results back."

"And," John asked.

"Apparently, Lestrade is not a liberty to give me any information except in person," Sherlock responds. "I said we could be there in fifteen minutes."

"Make that thirty," John said. "I want to finish my meal."

"Fine, I'll be waiting." Sherlock says.

"No, you eat too" John stresses.

Sherlock picked at his plate while John ate. When he finished, Sherlock jumped up and went for his coat and then outside to hail a cab with John on his heels.  


	8. Results

The cab pulled out front of the Yard and Sherlock flew inside, leaving John to pay. John caught up to Sherlock on the stairs up to Lestrade's office. Donovan gave Sherlock a groggy glare and muttered under her breath, but was ignored. Sherlock walked up to the office and in through the door like he owned the place.

Lestrade, who had been seated, stood when the door opened. An NSY lab tech was in the corner with a manila folder.

"Well, Lestrade, there had better be something good. I had to wait a month for the results, then had to come half way cross town to get them." Sherlock said.

"And good evening to you, too" Greg replied. "Hello, urm, Dr. Watson. Good to see you as well." The Inspector looked slightly uneasy around the new vampire.

"Please, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me John," John responds, with a reassuring smile. _Why do I make him uncomfortable?_

_Irrelevant._  Sherlock thinks. "The case. What is going on with the case?"

"Well, the blood results came back on the Lycan" Lestrade starts. "We got a DNA match with a Jason Wellington. Twenty-eight, lives in west Kent, and, according to his family, completely Human."

_What!_ John thinks. "That's not possible," Sherlock says.

"And," Lestrade continues, "The blood came back positive for L1 and L2 and S13, the lupine strain of Sanguinarianism."

 "How can that be?" Sherlock asked, flabbergasted.

"We ran the blood twice. Same results both times. And, get this, Jason Wellington is an Unperson. Infected with L2 three months ago. He was scheduled to be put down and the paper work says he was. So Sherlock," Greg asked, "How did a deceased Unperson from Kent end up on two morgue tables as a wolf in London?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Sherlock said with a smile.

_Timing, Sherlock._ John reminded.

Lestrade caught the look that flashed between the two of them. "What was that?" He asked.

"What? Nothing." Sherlock replied.

"No, it was definitely something." Greg said. "It was like you said something to each other."

The Inspector stared at the two vampires until Sherlock huffed. "John is an Amplifier. One of his abilities allows us to communicate. Telepathically."

Greg's jaw dropped. "So... Wait. That right right there... You guys talked?!?"

"That's what I said, was it not? Sherlock replied.

"What did you say?" Lestrade asked.

"Just reminding Sherlock that there is a time and place for certain behaviour," John said. 

"Oh, right" Greg responded.

"Well this has been so much fun," Sherlock said. "If you don't mind me, I'll head to the lab and see if I can find out how a Human can somehow turn into a Lycan. John, if you'd like to follow me that would be fine. If not, just head home without me." With that, Sherlock was gone.

"You gonna follow him?" Greg asks.

"You know what, I've been coped up with him for two months. I could use a night out. Care to join me for a drink?" John said.

Greg looked apprehensive but agreed. "Come on, there's a pub not to far from here." 

So the vampire and the Human went for a drink.


	9. He Had To See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I'm back from my mental health vacation. (・~・；)  
> I'll try to get on a more reasonable update schedule.

The pub was small, dark, and filled with the tempting scent of Humans. John sat in a back booth, across from Lestrade, nursing a Bloody Martha. The large meal he'd eaten sat heavy in his stomach. Greg was chattering on about his ex-wife's antics.

"Why don't you like me?" John asked abruptly, regretting he said it like that. "I mean, why do I make you uncomfortable? Even before I was Changed you were weird around me." 

"Uh..." Greg looked flustered. "Oh... um... stupid superstition. I guess," he said, taking a long drink.

"What kind of superstition?" 

"Just something my mother always said."

John was interested now. "And, what would she say?

"My mother told all of us children to beware of Lupurine. It's an old Croatian word for Vampire. She said that the Lupurine had slaves who would lead us to their master who would drink our blood and steal our Wolf. Not that I thought you were Sherlock's slave or that you could steal someone's Wolf," He hastily added.

"You're a Lycan?" John asked. Greg didn't smell like one.

"No, my mother is and my father's Human. I'm Saltus," Greg explained.

"Ookay..." John said, puzzled.

"I don't know. I like to think I'm not prejudiced, but growing up hearing only bad things about Vampires I guess I have a little bias against the Changed."

"So, your family thought that a Vampire could steal a Lycan's Wolf," John chuckled

"Like I said, it's a stupid superstition."

They drank in silence for a few minutes.

"I just realized," John said, "I really don't know anything about you. Sorry, that sounds rude."

"Actually, neither of us know much about the other," Greg responded.

It must have been a testament to the alcohol, but John laughed and said, "Ought to play some ice-breaker game, like never have I ever."

"Why not," Greg said. He called to the bartender for a beer for each of them. When they arrived he said, "Never have I ever... fallen asleep at work."

John drank. Greg raised an eyebrow. "It was the Chinese gang case. Sherlock and I were up till sunrise trying to find the one book that would crack the cipher. It was actually my first day at my hospital job." Greg laughed and John joined him. "Okay," John said, "Never have I ever lied to avoid getting a speeding ticket.

John was shocked when the DI drank. "Spill it," he said.

"I had actually just joined the force back home. I had just gotten off work and the roads were deserted. Some berk was revving his engine at a red light, rearing for a race. I'm not one to back down from a challenge, so naturally I stepped on the gas the moment the light changed. And, naturally it was my superior officer that caught me." John was red-faced from laughing, the beer having a much stronger a effect than when he was Human.

"Sorry," John got out. "Continue."

"So, I lied and said I was just trying to pull the racer over. I'm 97% sure he didn't believe me, but he let me off with a very stern warning." Greg managed to got his giggles under control. "Okay, never have I ever gotten blackout drunk and woken up in a stranger's bed."

"He hasn't," a voice called from behind them. They turned, slightly unsteadily, and gaped at Sherlock behind them. "What? It's true."

"How do you know that?" John asked.

"I know you," Sherlock said. "You grew up seeing the effects of over-consumption at home, first with your father then with your sister. You've always been conscientious about how much you drink, though you seem to over estimated how much you can handle now."

"What?! I'm fine," John said, playing up a slur. "Hey! Since you're here, you should play too."

"No," Sherlock replied, flatly.

"Oh, come on." Greg said. "It'll be fun. Hey, another beer over here," he called out to the bartender.

"Fine," Sherlock said, and even in his inebriated state John knew this might not turn out as fun as Greg thought. "Never have I ever been attracted to my brother." Well, there is was.

"Wha..." Greg sputtered and blushed.

"Seriously Greg!" John exclaimed.

"Well... I mean."

"Greg Lestrade! You astonish me!" John said, boisterously.

"In that case, never have I ever been madly in love my flatmate," Greg said defiantly, looking at Sherlock.

Everyone stopped, dead. It was like all the air had been sucked from the room. Sherlock flicked his eyes quickly onto then away from John, while the soldier had assumed military posture.

"And with that I am gone," John said, stiffly. That was when Greg looked between the two men and realized the mistake he had made.

Greg tried to apologize, but Sherlock cut him. "John is right. It is time to leave."

As the two vampires walked away, with much more space between them than necessary, the DI ran back up to them.

"I almost forget, I found out more about the dead Lycanthrope."

"And, what's that?" Sherlock asked, curly.

"I thought his name sounded familiar, so I looked 'Wellington'. A second cousin of mine married a Christopher Wellington, brother of James, about eight years ago."

"So?"

"She's a Lycan. Lycan's tend to marry other Lycan's. James's family said he was human; they didn't say he was Saltus. Wolf families tend to be ashamed of having Salti in the pack," Greg said softer. "Anyways, I don't know if that helps any, but I figured might be able to draw some meaning from it."

Apparently he could because he perked up and bolted out of the building, calling for John to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have deleted chapter 'Three' and moved it to "Reference Pieces to 'On Living Forever with Sherlock Holmes'".  
> It will provide articles and book excerpts providing background information to this story.


	10. Greater Than the Sum of Their Parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo... I'm back.  
> Depression can be a real binch, can't it.  
> *crickets*
> 
> (Shut up, they don't care about that. Just get on with the story.)
> 
> Anyways... here you go.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, chasing after his flatmate. "Sherlock, wait." But he was gone. _Sherlock!_

_What!_ Sherlock said.

_We need to talk._

_No, you need to talk. I need to solve a murder._

_Exasperation. Okay, tell me where you are and I'll help you._

_..._

_Sherlock?_

_I'm heading back to the flat._

_Okay, I'll meet you there._

 

John had only been waiting outside the flat for a few minutes before Sherlock rounded the corner. "Sherlock."

_Not out here._

John was confused, but asked to questions.

Once they were both inside he asked, "So what's going on?"

_Quietly._ Sherlock tossed a medical journal and a newspaper at him.

John raised an eyebrow. _I don't understand._

_Frustration._ Sherlock sighed _Page 72 and 4._

John turned to the given pages. The journal consisted of several Punnett squares and other diagrams. The newspaper headline read Cure!!!.

_I still don't understand. What does this have to do with the dead Lycan?_

_Disbelief. Think John. Read and think. Dr. Gareth had theorized that a combination of Vampire, Human, and Lycan DNA could cure the rabid Lycans. They injected ten werewolves with the venom of a Vampire with no family history of lycanthrope, to minimize the variables. Seven of the ten retrograded to a human form. Three died. Why three? Records show those three were Salti. The Virus tried fighting off the lycanthrope and killed the host while doing so._

_Dr. Gareth was looking for a way to cure the Salti werewolves. She is a highly intelligent woman and may have hypothesized that a transfusion a venom from a Saltus Vampire might cure them. But, she went missing six months ago._

_Hold on,_ John said. _I think I have it. When a 'human' Vampire bit a 'human' werewolf they became 'human'._

_It is painful to hear you think,_ Sherlock sighed.

_Hush,_ John said. ' _Human' Vampire + 'Human' Werewolf = 'Human'_

_So... Ahh! 'Saltus' Vampire + 'Saltus' Werewolf = 'Saltus'. But James was a Wolf._

_Maybe,_ Sherlock thought, _the process isn't one-hundred percent perfect. The 'humans' from the trial were not wholly Human, they're DNA more closely resembled Salti than Humans. So couldn't the same be true for a Saltus. They would have their existing Lycan DNA plus the additional DNA carried by the 'Saltus' Vampire._

_Turning them into a Lycan,_ John finished. _It could make them greater than the sum of their parts. But this isn't being done in some lab, so who would have the resources to do this?_

_Come on John. Who is the most powerful group in England. The oldest, the most influential. The one every sane person should fear._

_You're talking about the Family?_

_No. I'm talking about our Family._

 


End file.
